45 And A Half
by Red Witch
Summary: Mallory convinces Archer to go on a secret gun running mission for the Feds. Three guesses how this will end up.


**The disclaimer telling you that I don't own any Archer characters is off doing something somewhere. This is just some madness from my tiny mind. There was nothing on TV so…I got this.**

 **.45 And A Half **

"Okay Mother," Archer got into his mother's car wearing his black turtleneck gear. "What was so important that you made me break a date with Lana? And more importantly to lie to her and say I was busy tonight!"

"Well you are," Mallory was also dressed in black and behind the wheel.

"Doing **what?"** Archer said. "This better be good! Lana's still pissed about what happened with Veronica. Even more than getting shot at and getting her nose broken by bean bags."

"Oh its _Veronica_ now?" Mallory said icily.

"Don't try to change the subject!" Archer warned. "Mother what crazy scheme have you come up with this time?"

Mallory started to drive away. "I've managed to get us a job. Just the two of us."

"Leaving Lana and the rest of the agency out of it," Archer said. "Maybe that's not such a bad thing because Lana really doesn't want to go back to jail!"

"It's a very simple pick-up and delivery job," Mallory told him. "A friend of a friend got it for us."

"What kind of friend?" Archer asked.

"The kind I'm technically not supposed to have," Mallory admitted. "Giving things certain people aren't supposed to have."

"We're gunrunning aren't we?" Archer barked. "For who? The CIA?"

"No, the FBI," Mallory said. "They have a deal with a local mob boss. He gives them information about more dangerous targets…"

"And they leave him alone to murder and rob to his heart's content," Archer quipped. "So who is California's answer to Whitey Bulger?"

"Technically Arizona's answer to Whitey," Mallory corrected. "His name is Steve Bad Hand. He's Indian."

"You mean Native American?"

"No, Indian American," Mallory said. "As in his parents left India to move here and he was born in this country. Apparently his mother and Indira Gandhi had some kind of grudge against each other."

"Interesting twist in this spaghetti western," Archer quipped. "More like curry western."

"Sterling he's giving the FBI and the authorities valuable information about the Mexican drug cartels!" Mallory told him.

"Mostly because they are cutting into his profits from his own drug running ring," Archer said sarcastically.

"So it's a win-win," Mallory said. "Because if this goes well it might be the in we need to get back into the spy game!"

"Well maybe I **don't want** to go back into the spy game?" Archer barked.

"Oh God Sterling! Has this Magnum PI fantasy of yours not played out **yet**?" Mallory groaned.

"Hey! I've still got a lot of private eye sleuthing to do!" Archer said. "For at least three seasons! Well technically at least one season. I might change my mind and do something else during the last two…"

"And which season is that?" Mallory snapped. "Idiot Season? Because at our so called agency it's that time **all year round** "!

"And how much are we getting paid for this?" Archer asked.

"Your cut can be at least twenty thousand dollars," Mallory said.

"Out of…?" Archer gave her a look. "Oh my god it's fifty grand isn't it? And you're keeping the thirty! I'm doing all the work and you're keeping most of the money!"

"I got us this mission! I'm management!" Mallory snapped. "Look Sterling, all you have to do is get the truck at the depot I'm dropping you off at. There's a GPS programmed to take you to the drop off point at a town called Gold Rush Gulch in Arizona."

"Just me? You mean you're **not** coming _with me?"_ Archer mocked. "Oh what a shame…"

"Shut up," Mallory glared at him. "As much as I'd **love** to supervise you on this mission I have better things to do than to spend my night driving across state lines with crates of weapons in the back. Listening to your Kenny Loggins."

"Since when?" Archer asked. "And how do I get back?"

"You drive the truck back obviously!" Mallory snapped. "Just unload the guns, get the money and come back to the depot! Then I'll pick you up! HOW HARD IS THAT?"

"Which truck?" Archer snapped.

"It's a red truck with a white dog on the side," Mallory waved. "You can't miss it."

"Well it is pretty dark out," Archer said.

"It's a dog food truck!" Mallory snapped. "I think even you can't screw that up!"

"You'd be surprised," Archer chuckled.

"Listen to me Sterling!" Mallory growled. "Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to get this mission? We are blackballed from spy work! Which means this job is even **more** illegal than most of our past ones!"

"Is that even **possible?** " Archer asked.

"Apparently yes," Mallory growled. "And let me tell you, the fiasco with the Nut Incident didn't exactly endear us with what few contacts in the FBI I had left! I had to endure a thirty-three-minute lecture on competence and responsibility and some other crap. I tuned out a little at the end…But the point was that this was my last, last, **last** chance with my highest contact I had in the FBI. And a few other departments as well."

"I didn't say I wouldn't do it," Archer said. "I just wanted a bigger cut."

"Keep dreaming," Mallory growled.

"Besides it's a chance for me to re-enact some famous gun running movies," Archer said. "Running Scared. Lord of War. Black Dog. .45. The Breaking Point. The Gun Runners obviously."

"Sterling…" Mallory groaned.

"Actually The Breaking Point was the remake of the Gun Runners so technically it's the same movie," Archer went on.

"Damn it Sterling this is **important!"** Mallory snapped. "I am not going to continue working in a grubby little detective agency for the rest of my life! Scraping and saving pennies just so I can survive!"

"What? Is Ron not giving you an allowance?" Archer quipped.

"Do you still want me to give **you** an allowance?" Mallory glared at her son.

"Yes."

"Then shut up! This is our chance, maybe our last one to get back in the spy game!" Mallory shouted. "Where you and I belong!"

"What about the others?"

"Ehhh…" Mallory shrugged.

"Fair enough," Archer admitted.

"Sterling Mallory Archer…" Mallory growled. "If you screw this up I will literally…not figuratively…literally emasculate you with a stapler! Understand?"

"I get it!" Archer rolled his eyes.

"If you screw this up you certainly will!" Mallory parked the car. "We're here."

"And how do I get in?" Archer asked as he looked at the locked gate.

"You were a **master spy,"** Mallory said sarcastically. "I'm sure you can think of **something**!"

"Or I get lucky," Archer said. "Usually the latter."

"Now listen Sterling," Mallory warned. "Once you get the truck just drive where the GPS tells you to the drop off. Do **not** stop for anything! Got it?"

"Got it."

"I'm serious Sterling. Don't stop for anything."

"I got it," Archer waved as he got out.

"Read my lips," Mallory glared at him. "Do **not** stop for **anything** until you get to the rendezvous point. Got it?"

"I got it! Jesus Christ Mother!" Archer groaned as he closed the door. "I was the world's greatest spy! Give me some credit!"

"I will if you don't screw this up!" Mallory warned as she rolled down the window. "Call me when the job is finished. Not before! Remember, red truck. White dog. Follow the coordinates on the GPS. Do. Not. Stop."

"I **got** it!" Archer barked. "So unless you want to drive the damn truck yourself and earn your money for a change…"

To this Mallory responded by taking off. "Didn't think so!" Archer groaned. "Thanks a lot Mother! Great now I have to figure out a way to get past security…"

Archer walked around the corner and saw that the security booth was unmanned. "Well that's a freebee," Archer shrugged as he walked past. "Piece of cake. Now to find this stupid truck."

Archer looked around as he made his way to the trucks. "Damn the lighting around here is lousy. Can barely see anything. Damn it! Why didn't Mother warn me to bring a flashlight?"

"Okay it's a dog food truck," Archer looked around. "Red with a white dog. Or was it white with a red dog? No…It was…Uh…No. Definitely red with a white dog! Got it! So…"

He looked at the trucks. He saw a red truck with a white animal painted on one. "Bingo! That was easy."

He broke into the truck. "No keys. Guess I'm going to have to hotwire this." He did so. Then he carefully drove the truck out of the depot.

Soon it was morning and Archer was driving the truck down a highway in the desert. "Huh this delivery is going to be easier than I thought," Archer remarked. "Despite the shitty GPS!"

He looked at the GPS on the truck. "Damn thing isn't even programmed right!" Archer grumbled. "Good thing I have my phone! So thanks for nothing FBI dickwads!"

"I hate to admit it but Mother had a point. I do miss being a spy a little. Being a detective isn't exactly everything I thought it would be. For one thing the money is nowhere near what I thought it would be. I mean everything I made these past several months…I could have done in one paycheck back when I was a spy."

"God I miss having a cordwainer. And a valet. Where the hell did Woodhouse go?"

"The sad part is even if I found Woodhouse I don't think I can pay him. Wait, Mother paid his salary. So I'm good."

"I also thought I would have had way more interesting cases by now. Or more of them. Or at the very least get my PI certification."

"Of course I can't add **these** hours to my certification. Cyril will have a hissy fit. Lana would lecture me. Everyone else wouldn't really care. Except for the money part. Still…Damn it. At this rate it might take me three years to get my PI license!"

"Speaking of getting something," Archer noticed a rest stop. "I could go for a breakfast burrito. And to use the bathroom. Hey! This rest stop has a McDougal's! All right! Time for a break!"

Eleven minutes later…

"That is easily one of the best rest stops I have ever been to," Archer came out munching a breakfast burrito. "Clean restroom. You have a choice to use paper towels or those stupid hand sanitizer air things that don't really dry your hands. No wait at the counter. Fresh tasting breakfast burritos. Yup. Definitely glad I stopped here."

"Stop right there!" Someone shouted as Archer was about to get into the truck.

"Uh oh…" Archer turned around and saw several cops had surrounded him. "This is never good."

"Just hold it right there!" A tall sheriff with a brown mustache growled at him as he pointed his weapon at Archer's head. "Don't reach for your weapon!"

"Can I finish my breakfast burrito?" Archer asked.

"Sure why not?" The Sheriff shrugged. "We got a report that there's guns being smuggled to Gold Rush Gulch."

"Really? Because all that's in the truck is dog food. Yup, just dog food," Archer said in between bites of his burrito. "I mean it is a dog food truck so…"

"So you won't mind if we take a look," The Sheriff said. "Open it up boys."

"Uh you really don't need to do that," Archer said nervously.

"Geeze it's cold back here!" One of the cops remarked as they went into the truck. "God they really crank up the AC on refrigerated trucks don't they?"

"Wait **refrigerated?** " Archer did a double take. "Why would guns need to be…?"

"It's not guns! It's **bacon** …" One of the officers said. "Crates and crates of bacon."

"What?" Archer and the Sheriff said at the same time.

They both looked. The police opened the crates and there was nothing but slabs of bacon in the refrigerated truck. "Huh. It is bacon," Archer blinked.

"Are you sure?" The Sheriff shouted. "Look under the bacon! Maybe the guns are hidden under there?"

"Okay uh, I found something," One of the police officers looked through the crate.

"Ah ha! What did you find?" The Sheriff asked smugly.

"More bacon," The police officer took it out.

"Keep looking!" The Sheriff shouted.

"Yeah keep looking!" Archer barked. "Are you sure there's only bacon in there?"

"All we're finding is bacon! Bacon! And more bacon!" Another police officer snapped as they looked through the truck.

"Well maybe there's a hidden panel or something?" Archer suggested.

"Yeah what he said!" The Sheriff agreed.

"Uh boss," Another officer spoke up. "Weren't we supposed to stop a red truck with a white dog on it?"

"Yeah. So?" The Sheriff asked. "We did!"

"Uh not exactly," The officer pointed. On the side of the red truck was a white pig.

"Huh," Archer blinked. "Looks like I got the wrong truck. No wonder the GPS didn't have the coordinates. Well there's no reason for me to go to Gold Rush Gulch now. Is there a bar around here?"

"Gol dang it!" The Sheriff fumed. "How could you get the wrong truck?"

"Well you didn't know either!" Archer barked. "Plus when I stole this truck it was pitch black with very little lighting! It's easy to make that kind of a mistake! You guys are in broad daylight! How did **you** make that mistake?"

"He does have a point boss," Another officer said.

"So I'm guessing you stole the wrong truck!" The Sheriff snapped.

"Borrowed!" Archer protested. "What are you going to do? Arrest me?"

"Well we would if we were real cops," One of the cops sighed.

"VERN!" The Sheriff shouted.

"Let me guess you guys are a rival gang right?" Archer said. "Come on. Fess up."

"He obviously figured it out," Vern said.

"Vern shut your damn trap hole!" The fake Sheriff pointed his gun at Archer. "Do you know how hot it is going to be today? I don't want to lug around a dead body because of your big mouth!"

"Oh come on!" Archer barked. "Obviously I'm not going to the real cops about this and you're not going to the real cops about this. So why don't we just go to the nearest bar and have a drink?"

"Aren't you with the Feds?" The fake sheriff asked.

"Not exactly," Archer shrugged. "I'm more of a freelancer. Actually this whole thing was my mother's idea."

"Really?" Vern asked. "His too!" He pointed to the fake sheriff.

"No kidding?" Archer snorted. "Did your mother threaten to literally emasculate you with a stapler if anything went wrong?"

The fake sheriff sighed. "Garden sheers actually. Dang it! I never even wanted to do this! I told her this was a stupid plan!"

"So did I!" Archer said. "With my mother I mean."

"Well now what the hell do we do?" The fake sheriff put his gun down.

"We do have all this bacon," Archer said. "And it's morning…Breakfast at a bar?"

"I could make my famous bacon beer!" Vern spoke up. "You love that boss!"

"I know a place," The fake Sherriff sighed.

Twenty-six minutes later…

"So your real name is Mortimer Richardson and you run a mob that's a rival to Steve Bad Hand?" Archer asked the fake sheriff at a bar. They had servings of bacon and eggs. The other gang members were still in their police outfits and they were drinking and eating as well in the bar.

"Just call me Mort," The fake sheriff sighed. "And yes. And before you ask, the only reason I'm running this gang is because my father ran it. My mother forced me into the job."

"I know that tune," Archer groaned. "My mother was a spy and she made me become one too. Before we became detectives that is. And she made me work in her drug cartel too! Before that folded. Long story."

"If it's anything like how I ended up running a drug gang I believe it," Mort moaned. "Ever since my father died she's been on my ass telling me what to do and how to do it."

"At least you knew your father," Archer said. "I never did. I don't even know who he is!"

"Seriously?" Mort asked.

"One candidate is dead. Another is crazy," Archer groaned. "A third is Buddy Rich but that's pretty much in left field. God only knows how many other possibilities there are out there."

"That's rough man," Mort said.

"Here ya go," Vern handed them two glasses of dark beer with bacon sticking out of them. "Best bacon beer in the west."

"Well it is breakfast time," Archer took a drink. "Oh my god! This is amazing!"

"I know," Mort said. "You would think these two things wouldn't go together…"

"But it does!" Archer gasped. "It so does! It's like a miracle in my mouth! A bacon-y miracle!"

"I know!" Mort said. "Vern makes the best beer bacon!"

"You have got to give me the recipe," Archer said. "See it pays to try new things!"

"I just wish my mother felt that way," Mort groaned. "I wanted a completely different job path in my life. But nooooooooooo! I had to live up to the freaking family legacy!"

"Preaching to the choir buddy," Archer agreed as he took a drink. "I wanted to play professional lacrosse but…"

"You're kidding me?" Mort asked.

"No seriously…" Archer began.

"So did I!" Mort shouted. "See Vern? I **told** you it was a thing!"

"You're a lacrosse fan too?" Archer asked.

"I was a goalie in high school!" Mort said proudly. "They called me the Wall. No one got past me!"

"I was an attacker!" Archer said. "Wait I heard about you…Did you once play for a high school team called…?"

"The Screaming Eagles! Yes!" Mort said.

"I went to St. John's Prep school! I my team was the Saints!" Archer shouted.

"The Sinning Saints? No way!" Mort shouted. "We were gonna play you until we got banned from the interleague competition for unnecessary roughness!"

"Us too! Well me mostly…" Archer said. "Wow what a small world!"

"I am so glad I didn't shoot you," Mort said.

"So am I," Archer said.

"I'm glad you're not with Steve Bad Hand," Mort grumbled. "More like Steve Bad Breath. That guy is annoying! Even for a mob boss!"

"Really?" Archer asked.

"He's one of those hipster types that thinks he's cool! Millennials!" Mort scoffed.

"What are you gonna do?" Archer shrugged. "Wait, what's a Millennial again?"

"Another round of beer!" Mort called out.

"And bacon!" Archer shouted.

A few beers later…

 _"So now I'm praying for the end of time!"_ Archer and Mort sang on top of the bar with a karaoke machine _._ To the delight of the gang who cheered them on. _"To hurry up and arrive! Because if I gotta spend another minute with you I don't think that I could really survive…"_

" _I never break my promise or forget my vow!"_ Mort sang.

" _But god only knows what I can do right now!"_ Archer sang.

CRASH!

"Yo! God only knows what I can do right now to you now yo!" A young Indian man in swanky hip hop clothes stormed in with several armed men in suits.

"Oh here comes Captain Buzzkill…" Someone grumbled.

"It's Steve Bad Hand yo! Remember it!" The youth snapped.

"More like Steve Bad Breath!" Mort grumbled.

"Yo! Respect! Yo! Respect!" Steve Bad Hand snapped.

"I see what you mean," Archer turned to Mort. "That **is** annoying!"

"This is the language of the streets yo!" Steve Bad Hand snapped.

"I'm pretty sure it isn't," Archer remarked.

"What streets?" Mort snapped. "The streets of Beverly Hills where you grew up? Seriously. Your father was an orthodontist to the kids of the stars and Hollywood producers. Give it up."

"No, you give it up!" Steve Bad Hand snapped. "Give up those weapons you snatched from me!"

"We don't have your stupid weapons," Mort snapped.

"Yeah my bad," Archer shrugged. "I got a truck of bacon instead…"

"Don't play me dawg!" Steve Bad Hand snapped. "Don't play me!"

"They should call you Steve Bad Grammar," Archer said. "Kid listen…"

"I ain't to kid y'all," Steve Bad Hand barked. "I'm a man! I'm nineteen yo!"

"Technically yes you are," Archer gave him a look. "Seriously kid. I have bullet scars older than you. Well not that many actually. I've always been a pretty fast healer. Physically. Emotional scars are another thing…"

"Hey boss," One of Steve's goons spoke up. "We checked the truck. There's nothing but crates of bacon in there."

"WHAT?" Steve Bad Hand barked.

"Told you," Mort rolled his eyes.

"Check under the bacon!" Steve Bad Hand barked.

"We did!" Steve's goon spoke up.

"So did we!" Mort snapped.

"I told you!" Archer explained. "It was dark and I mistook the pig shape for a dog shape. So grabbed the wrong truck."

"You telling me yo, that you can't tell the diff between a **pig** and a **dog?** " Steve Bad Hand snapped.

"Well the lighting was bad," Archer said. "And its difference. Not diff. Try to add full words. Just saying."

"So what are you doing with these clowns?" Steve Bad Hand snapped.

"Well I stopped for a breakfast burrito and a use the bathroom," Archer began.

"Stopped? You ain't supposed to stop when you on a run, son!" Steve Bad Hand snapped.

"Who are you? My mother?" Archer snapped.

"Yeah I didn't want to say anything before," Mort remarked. "But that kind of was a bit of a no-no what you did."

"Et Tu, Mort?" Archer snapped as he grabbed another beer glass filled with bacon beer.

"Well it did make it kind of easy to catch you," Mort protested. "Not that it did any good. I mean you did grab the wrong truck and all."

"So why didn't you pop this idiot's ass?" Steve Bad Hand asked.

"Well we got to talking," Mort said.

"And we had all this bacon so we decided to throw a bacon party," Archer said. "With bacon beer. Which is really good."

"Yeah," Mort nodded. "And it turns out we have a lot in common. We both played lacrosse."

"Lacrosse sucks!" Steve Bad Hand barked. "Soccer is where it's at yo!"

"YOU SUCK!" Archer threw a glass of bacon beer right at Steve's head.

SMASH!

"BOSS!" Someone shouted.

Before Archer knew it he was ducking behind the bar from a hail of gunfire.

"I hate it when I get in a gunfight before breakfast!" Archer groaned. "Oh shit! I don't have my gun with me!"

"You should have thought of that **before** you started the fight!" Mort shouted as he fired his weapon at the other gang.

"Hey! The guy insulted lacrosse!" Archer snapped. "He crossed a line!"

"I'm not saying he didn't have it coming," Mort remarked. "I'm just saying…Hang on!"

He shot off a few bullets. One of them killed an opposing goon. "You really should think these things through," Mort finished. "I mean why start a fight with guys with guns if you don't have a gun?"

"Honestly I do it all the time," Archer shrugged. "Don't see the big deal."

"YOU DON'T SEE THE BIG DEAL?" Mort shouted.

BANG!

"Oh great! Vern's dead!" Mort shouted. "Vern's dead and you don't see the big deal!"

"Well **now** I do obviously!" Archer snapped. "He didn't tell me how he made his bacon beer. Hang on…You have a lighter?"

"Yeah why?" Mort shouted.

"Give it to me," Archer said.

"Why?"

"Just give it to me!" Archer barked.

"Here!" Mort threw it to him. "What are you going to do?"

"Make a little something called a Molotov Cocktail!" Archer grabbed a dishrag and a bottle of alcohol. He stuck the rag in the bottle after taking a quick drink. Then lit the makeshift fuse.

"Fire in the hole!" Archer whooped as he threw the bottle.

BOOOOOOOOOM!

"Yeah! I got some of those suckers!" Archer whooped.

"You also hit some of my guys!" Mort shouted.

"Oops!" Archer winced. "Well I said fire in the hole!"

"You killed some of my guys!" Mort shouted.

"Fine! I'm sorry!" Archer snapped. "What more do you want?"

"I want you dead!" Steve Bad Hand managed to get around the bar.

"Not if I shoot him first asshole!" Mort pointed his gun at Steve Bad Hand.

Steve Bad Hand pointed his gun at Mort. "Die bastard!"

BANG!

BANG!

Mort fell over with a bullet in his head. At the same time Steve Bad Hand fell down with a bullet in his head. They had killed each other at the exact same time in the exact same way.

"Who would have thought a simple gun running mission would have ended in so much violence?" Archer mused.

"THIS IS THE FOOD AND DRUG ADMINISTRATION! PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!"

"Now what?" Archer did a double take.

Several armed men in SWAT gear ran in. "This is the Food and Drug special forces!" One of them shouted. "You are all under arrest for violating the Food Act! And stealing bacon for the black market!"

"Okay wait…" Archer did a double take. "Drugs and guns can go across our borders and travel all over the country undetected. But a single misplaced truck filled with bacon brings out the **riot squad**? Seriously?"

"AAAHHH!" Someone that was still on fire accidentally tackled one of the SWAT team members.

Of course that invoked a response of gunfire from the SWAT team. And in turn the gangsters forgot their battle to fight the forces of law and order. Someone threw a smoke grenade and that's when things started to get a little wild.

"Okay I'm **out** of here," Archer ran off. "Exit stage right!"

The following day…

"STERLING MALLORY ARCHER!" Mallory shouted. "YOU STOLE THE WRONG TRUCK!?"

"I thought you didn't want anyone in this agency to know?" Archer asked sarcastically. He was still in his black turtleneck stealth clothes.

"Well it's a little late **now**!" Mallory shouted. "Now that you've blown the mission! And walking in here looking like you were skulking around somewhere!"

"It's not a complete disaster," Archer said. "Those guns are probably still in the truck at the depot right? I bet we can go down there and use them…"

"No Sterling," Mallory glared at him. "The weapons are gone!"

"Gone? How did **that** happen?" Archer asked.

"Funny thing," Mallory told him. "You know when a truck just loiters around a depot for a few days without moving? Turns out they check it! And guess what their security found?"

"The guns," Archer said.

"That's right," Mallory snapped. "It's all over the news this morning! How they busted a huge weapons cache from terrorists!"

"Technically mobsters," Archer corrected. "But yeah they didn't know that and terrorists sounds better."

"So the FBI got called in to investigate their own damn weapons!" Mallory snapped.

"Well that's convenient for them," Archer said. "No harm. No foul."

"You would think that right?" Mallory gave him a look. "Funny thing. Not everybody at the FBI knows **exactly** what everyone else is doing. See they called in a completely different team of FBI investigators than the ones that were responsible for the guns in the first place. Long story short…"

"Too late," Archer quipped.

"The FBI has a major internal investigation going on," Mallory groaned. "Apparently some idiot left a receipt in the back and one of the investigating agents recognized the handwriting!"

"So why didn't that agent just keep it quiet?" Archer asked.

"Because apparently there are some goody-goodies at the FBI who actually think that making deals with mobsters is a **bad thing**!" Mallory shouted. "My contacts will be lucky if they don't go to jail! Much less keep their jobs!"

"Oh…" Archer winced.

"One of them already quietly resigned to try and appease the powers that be," Mallory grumbled. "And another one that is still there told me in very precise language to never contact him again! So there goes **that** chance down the drain!"

Mallory threw up her hands. "In fact we'll be lucky if our names aren't mentioned and thrown to the proverbial wolves! So explain to me Sterling, how the hell did you screw this one up?"

"Well…" Archer began.

Ten minutes later…

"Let me see if I get this straight," Mallory's eye twitched. "You steal the wrong truck. Even though I gave you _explicit details_ on what the truck **looked like**! You stop the truck at a rest stop after I specifically told you to **not** stop the truck for anything…"

"I was hungry and had to use the bathroom," Archer said. "Like I was going to pee in a jar."

"Then you get caught by a rival gang posing as cops," Mallory went on. "End up going to a bar with that gang. Have some weird drunken bacon karaoke shenanigans before Steve Bad Hand and his gang bust in. You start a fight and a shootout. Then this Meat Patrol or whatever it is comes in and starts another shootout where somehow you sneak out the back while everyone else gets killed…"

"I know," Archer waved. "I can't believe my luck either sometimes."

"Stole a car and drove back to LA only to get stopped by **real** policemen…" Mallory rubbed her temples in irritation. "Two blocks from the agency?"

"Yeah here's where the story gets weird," Archer added. "Remember Crybaby Craig?"

"He was that trainee that dropped out of ISIS after Waterboarding Day," Mallory frowned.

"That was him!" Archer said. "He was the cop that pulled me over! The funny thing is he owed me two hundred bucks so we made a deal…"

"Which was…?" Mallory's voice was calm.

"He'd give me a pass," Archer said. "However the car I stole was a classic GTO convertible. Apparently Steve Bad Hand had good taste. So Craig decided to take it for a test drive then and there before he impounded it. He wouldn't let me ride in it. Which is just as well. Because he didn't have a good handle on the breaks so…"

A fire engine sound was heard. "So that's when the accident happened?" Mallory asked.

"Yeah he drove right into a truck making a hairpin turn at full speed carrying gas and…" Archer shrugged.

"Kaboom. I know. I heard the explosion," Mallory winced. "I don't believe it…"

"You're telling me," Archer grumbled. "I'm still out two hundred bucks."

"Well life isn't fair," Mallory picked up a stapler. "I'm going to be out of a stapler. Because it will be stuck to what is left **of your balls**!"

"Uh oh…" Archer gulped as he ran off.

"YOU CAN RUN BUT YOU CAN'T HIDE STERLING!" Mallory chased after him.

"WANNA BET?" Archer shouted.

He ran through the bullpen where Ray and Cyril were. "AAAHHHH!" Archer screamed.

"COME BACK HERE AND DIE LIKE A MAN!" Mallory screamed as she waved the stapler around, chasing him through and out of the room.

"AND I'M GOING TO STAY A MAN!" Archer yelled.

"WANNA BET?" Mallory screamed,

"Why is Ms. Archer trying to kill her son with a stapler?" Ray asked.

"I don't know," Cyril sighed. "But knowing Archer. He deserves it."


End file.
